All the fear and tension of the past hours rattled through her. Cee Cee hugged her arms about herself to still the shivering. The events emphasized her fragile hold on those she cared about. For all her best and bravest intentions, she couldn’t protect them.

She wasn’t doing Max any favors by keeping him isolated in emotional bubble wrap. If he was going to recover any sense of normalcy, he needed to get out into the world and out of her panicked grip.

But to be alone again. To not share her life, her thoughts, her heart with another . . .

Her system gave a jolt when she realized Max had come up behind her to make amends.

“You weren’t being foolish.”

The rumble of his deep voice caressed over her nerve endings, quieting them like a balm. “If you and Giles hadn’t been so close by, MacCreedy would be dead. I should be thanking you, not treating you like a runaway child who broke curfew. I’m sorry.”

His hand settled on her shoulder, and the weight and warmth of it had her dying inside. “Don’t apologize. I know how hard this is for you. I appreciate all you’ve done for me.”

Past tense. A bittersweet twist shaped her mouth. “All I’ve done has been for me, not you. I haven’t given you much consideration at all. I’m selfish that way.”

His palm rubbed over the cap of her shoulder, fingers gently kneading. Leaving her needing. “There’s not a selfish bone in your body, cher.”

A laugh. “How would you know? You’re hardly an expert on what I am or I’m not.”

“I’m a fast learner.”

She wasn’t sure if he stepped forward or she leaned back. Their bodies bumped, and the shock of it undid her.

Cee Cee turned into his arms. Hers circled him in a frantic clutch. Cheek pressed to the hard wall of his chest with only a thin weave of white linen between them, she squeezed her eyes shut and simply breathed him in. Love, longing, desire all quivered through her, a bouquet so potent he couldn’t be unaware of it. This was where she belonged, where everything made sense.

And then she realized he no longer held her, that his arms had dropped to his sides, as his breath suspended. She knew if she looked up, she’d see that horribly familiar blankness in his eyes, that stiff distance in his expression, and suddenly that hurt worse than the thought of his absence.

She pushed away with a crisp, “I’m sorry. I’m breaking the rules. I forgot we were strangers.” She turned to her dresser to snatch up those things that defined her: shield, cell, holster and gun. “Consider yourself off the leash, Savoie. You’re capable of handling your own affairs. I’ll stick to mine. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a report to file.”

The Saga of the Sagas

These poetic Viking tell-alls written
in the 1200s recount Norse heydays
from the year 870 to1030. There are
shipwrecks and adventures, love won and
love lost. And then there's tales of warriors
afraid of the dark and hearty Norsemen
hiding in a tub of whey when outnumbered.
History worth reading...

...when books are opened, you discover that you have wings. - Helen Hayes